


Until Death Do Us Part

by Darkness_Rising



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkness_Rising/pseuds/Darkness_Rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The twins struggle to come to terms with the death of their bond mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Until Death Do Us Part (another really bad title, I was going to leave this un-named, and I probably should have)  
>  **Series/Verse:** G1  
>  **Kink OP and/or prompt:** None  
>  **Rating:** PG13  
>  **Disclaimer:** This is a piece of fiction. No harm was intended in the creation of this work. All rights belong to the original creators.  
>  **Pairings:** Sideswipe x Sunstreaker x Ratchet  
>  **Warnings:** Canon Death
> 
> A/N: One weekend I am writing fluff for these three, then the following week I am writing death and grief. Yes, normal services have clearly resumed. I was actually looking for a draft of another fic I had started (a Sunstreaker x Vortex fic *le gasp as I write a non-twins x Ratch fic*) but it seemed that my last computer crash wiped it and instead, I found this one which I had started a little while ago, and suddenly my muse was all yes this is just what we need to counteract the fluff. (Until that same slagging muse bailed on me as the week wore on -.-). So, have some…grief.

Servos that could both create a work of art and tear a mech to pieces, gently slid over the still frame, caressing as a lover would; seeking confirmation of what optics told their owner.

It would seem that nothing else was confirmation enough for the mech with the wandering servos; neither the apologetic words that came from others, or the prone frame that lay before him, nor the fact that his deep cobalt hued optics, their aloofness concealing the turmoil which surged and crashed inside his already turbulent spark, roamed the unmistakable grey plating. No, none of these things, _all_ of which told the same story, were acknowledged.

The grey plates below his light touch were cold, lifeless; the stark and contrasting colours, gone. And it was only now, when his fingers smoothed over the coldness, did the tall golden yellow mech acknowledge what he had been told.

His bond-mate was dead.

Once he acknowledged, though he still did not accept, what lay before him, pain seared through Sunstreaker’s spark like none he had felt before; his spark finally recognising that a part of it had died. The pain twisted and contorted, burning him from the inside, knocking the air out of his vents before he stumbled to a knee, his bond-mate’s designation slipping past his lips in a broken rasp.

_“Ratchet!”_

Gasping as he fought for control, Sunstreaker’s spark reached for his twin but Sideswipe’s side of the bond was clamped shut, just as it had been almost since the moment they had heard the news. Spark twins, both whom had lived their lives depending on one another emotionally, dragging each other through every turmoil they encountered, feeling one another’s pain, feeling one another’s joy, and now loving together, fiercely, had instantly become strangers; neither knowing how to comfort the other, neither knowing how to deal with their own grief.

Pulling himself together and snarling, Sunstreaker snapped his side of the bond shut, the loss of one spark in his life already threatening to crumble him. Straightening himself up, Sunstreaker held his frame tall and taught, almost primed for battle, except now this was a different kind of battle. Now this was his fight to go on living, and the warrior did not think that this was one he would win.

Optics traveling over the expanse of Ratchet’s lifeless frame, not wanting to look but unable to pull away, a servo rested on his shoulder; strong, powerful, reassuring, yet the words that followed were strained, full of sorrow, regretful. “Sunstreaker, I know that words will not bring him back, will not sooth the pain but know that I am truly sorry for your loss. He will be missed by all.”

The Autobot soldier clenched his jaw as his sorrow ripped him apart, the pain incomparable to anything he had felt before, however still he stood tall, stood proud. But his visitor was right. In spite of the words spoken Ratchet was still dead, still gone from their lives.

When Sunstreaker did not respond, the mech behind him tried again, tried to reach out to him. “Sunstreaker…”

“Don’t Prime.” Sunstreaker’s words were quiet, strained. Optics remained pinned on Ratchet, willing him back to life. “There’s nothing you can say…do.”

The blue servo that rested on Sunstreaker’s shoulder clenched for a klik, both in the Prime’s worry for the front liner and in his failure to comfort the grieving mech. “You and Sideswipe, you need to take care of one another.”

Sunstreaker almost snorted. He wondered how he was going to take care of himself in the aftermath of Ratchet’s death, let alone Sideswipe. Besides, Sideswipe had already shut him out, had made it clear that he did not need Sunstreaker. But that was fine, if Sunstreaker had to do this alone, he would, but for now he would not leave Ratchet’s side unless they dragged him away, kicking and screaming.

\---------------------------------------------

Elsewhere, in the dark of his quarters, a lone mech sat, unmoving, optics dim and frame rigid as he sat on the edge of a berth. Sideswipe had not moved for joors, not even when he felt Sunstreaker reach out and push against the block he had on their bond; his own actions towards his twin just another rent in his already broken spark. But he had been unable to deal with Sunstreaker, not right then, not when he had been unable to control his own grief.

It had taken all of his strength, all these joors to get where he was at this moment; the façade still weak though, his hold on his self-control tentative. Tears had long stopped flowing, Sideswipe was sure that he had wept himself dry, and the hitching of his vents was barely detectable now, but the pain in his spark had not lessened, had not loosened its grip; if anything it was more pronounced, more acute.

Sideswipe had heard the gentle raps against his door, had been aware of the pings of concern that were sent through to him, but each time he just responded with his own ping, a single glyph that requested all to leave him be; so long as he responded he knew no one would come barging in, destroying the bubble he had immersed himself within. He needed this time alone. He needed to get his feelings under control, and not just for him, for Sunstreaker too.

They had faced some truly awful times in their life, and they had both been there to drag each other back up, even in the most desolate of times. But this was something entirely new, to both of them, and neither knew how to help the other. Sideswipe knew that when Sunstreaker had reached out for him that he was looking for console, not offering it, and Sideswipe felt too weak to be able to give Sunstreaker what he sought, so he kept the block firmly clamped in place and tried not to think of the pain Sunstreaker was in; the pain that was echoed in his own half of their spark.

An unexpected thought ghosted through Sideswipe’s processor, one that made his tank roil; for just one klik he wished that he was not a part of Sunstreaker. That for once, he only had himself to think about. But the thought was terminated as quickly as it surfaced while guilt and self-loathing quickly followed. Their split spark, their shared life, made them who they were, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe; both their own mechs but each an integral part of the other, reliant on no one.

Then Ratchet came into their lives and they suddenly found themselves loving another. They had cared for others in the past but never at the level, the intensity that they loved Ratchet. There had been times in their distant past when Sideswipe’s spark reached out for another, but Sunstreaker did not share those sentiments. Then there had been other times when Sunstreaker’s spark had felt something for someone he met, but Sideswipe had had to force himself to share the feeling.

But Ratchet was different.

It was not instant, it was definitely not love at first sight, and for stellar-cycles the relationship between the twins and the Autobot CMO was, fiery to say the least. But they trusted him with their lives, in a way they had never trusted another, and over time that bond of trust between them had formed into something altogether overwhelming.

At first all three denied the feelings they harboured, even the twins seemed to shut that part of themselves off from each other but as the war escalated, and after the small group of Autobots and Decepticons found themselves on Earth, miraculously alive, they realised more than ever that every cycle could be their last, so after much game playing, which entertained the occupants of the _Ark_ no end, the three finally admitted to how they felt.

It had been several stellar-cycles later when they bonded and although the relationship between the three was still as fiery as when they first met, there was not a single thing they would not do for one another, and each would protect the others with their life.

Except this cycle, the twins had not been around; this cycle Ratchet had not had his protectors around when he needed them.

There had always been a _capture not kill_ bounty on Ratchet's helm, even the Decepticon’s knew his worth, whether they would want to use that worth for their own ends or as a bargaining chip with the Autobots, but the attack that came that cycle had been fierce, destructive, and the attackers did not care who they took down in their wake.

Now, Sideswipe sat alone, finally calm on the outside but inside he was a tumult of emotion, each feeling scrambling to be felt, each thought vying for his attention, his guilt at failing their spark mate, guilt he knew that Sunstreaker shared, feeding off his thoughts and feelings. He needed to quash everything down, if only for now, needed to keep everything contained and then, and only then, could he go to Sunstreaker. Only then could he finally face the truth of what had happened.

\---------------------------------------------

The med bay had been empty for several joors now, most mechs already having paid their respects, finally leaving Sunstreaker alone with his grief. Alone, Sunstreaker had retreated deep within himself and not even the overly loud swoosh of the doors cycling open in the painfully silent med bay, was enough to rouse Sunstreaker from the deep well of pain he had buried himself in.

A gentle clearing of a vocaliser sounded far, far away to Sunstreaker, but when he heard the sound again he realised that it was only coming from a short distance behind him. Finally tearing his optics away from the grey, lifeless frame in front of him, Sunstreaker partially turned his helm, catching sight of First Aid from the corner of his optic.

Seeing Sunstreaker acknowledge him, First Aid’s gentle vocaliser penetrated the silence; the young medic's mild tone such a contrast to the gruff tones that belied Ratchet’s true compassion. “Sunstreaker, we need to prepare…the frame.”

A beat of silence settled between them and the young medic wondered if Sunstreaker had heard him. Opening his masked mouth to repeat himself, Sunstreaker cut him off before he spoke. “He’s not an object.” Sunstreaker growled before looked back at the shell that he had caressed so many times.

Confusion flickered through First Aid, his EM field flaring out, trying to capture a little of Sunstreaker’s in order to understand what the front liner meant. As the edge of his field brushed against Sunstreaker’s, it snapped back quickly. There was so much anger, so much pain and so much desolation that bled through the slight passing touch.

“He’s still Ratchet.” Sunstreaker hoarsely whispered.

First Aid suddenly realised what he had done. It had been thoughtless of him to refer to Ratchet as _the frame_ , but that was his medical training talking, what had been instilled in him by Ratchet.

_Never get too close to a case_ the CMO had told him time and time again. _We cannot function if we allow ourselves to grieve for every mech we lose._

Of course, Ratchet knew what a hypocrite he was, also knew that in such a small group, such as those stranded on Earth, it was difficult, impossible to _not_ be emotionally involved with those they treated. It was different when Ratchet had been back on Cybertron, easier when the turnover of patients was vast, _ship ‘em in, ship ‘em out_. Although Ratchet had never been that callous, not really, but everyone needed their own ways to survive what they witnessed, and if pretending that he did not care helped Ratchet, then that was what he did.

The young medic had never lived on Cybertron as he had been created on Earth, so only knew the tight knit community he lived amongst and that added to the fact he was part of a gestalt, their ties stronger than any team, no matter how long they had fought together for, and First Aid found it difficult not to be emotionally involved with his patients.

But the Protectobot was grieving too. Ratchet was not only his mentor, but his _creator_ too. Every Cybertronian ship had carried sparks and protoforms at one point. It was a way to counteract heavy losses and the Ark had been no different. The sealed chamber, codes only known by a select few, carried fully matured protoforms, each waiting to have life implanted into them. The sparks these frames waited for, were locked down in stasis and had never been conscious, until Ratchet and Wheeljack had been tasked with bringing them to life.

First came the Dinobots who were then followed by the Protectobots. Each member of the two groups looking to the medic and the engineer as both creators and mentors, and now they grieved in their own ways for the loss of the CMO, the loss of Ratchet. Drawing on Ratchet’s training, cutting himself off from the situation, was now First Aid’s way of dealing with what had happened, but he had not realised how his behaviour would affect another.

Nervously the Protectobot stepped forward. Sunstreaker was larger than him, made him edgy, even when hunched over Ratchet’s frame, but First Aid still approached him. “I’m sorry Sunstreaker, I didn’t mean to…”

Sunstreaker snarled, cutting off whatever First Aid was going to say again. “Leave us be!”

First Aid stopped a few steps away from the med berth, his energy field desperate to offer comfort to the larger mech, but knowing his offerings of solace would be rebuffed, First Aid kept a tight hold on his field. “We really need to treat…Ratchet’s frame, before the internment.” The medic almost whispered the final words; just like everyone else, he still did not want to truly accept the truth but there were things that had to be done, things that needed to be taken care of.

Sunstreaker turned to fully face the smaller mech, swaying with emotion as he did. “I said leave us be! No one is touching him, _no one!”_ Sunstreaker’s words tapered out as he fought the hitch in his system, his energy low, emotions high.

Standing firm, First Aid pulled himself as tall as he could, but still nowhere near as tall as the front liner. “Sunstreaker, you know we have to do this. If we don’t then decay will set in. Rust will quickly eat away at his remains until he is nothing but dust.”

The words were a shock to Sunstreaker’s processor. He knew this, all of this, but to know it was Ratchet who Frist Aid spoke about, the words felt like a red hot energon sword had been run through his spark, over and over again. For a klik he wondered if this was what his enemy, his victims, felt like when he ran them through with his own blade. The thought only remained momentarily as his anger and guilt pushed through from the pit of his tank, looking for an outlet.

Suddenly First Aid found himself against the wall of the med bay, a servo around his throat, his pedes barely touching the floor. “I. Said. No. One. Is. Touching. Him!” Sunstreaker punctuated his words, ensuring the medic understood him.

Fear flared through First Aid, bleeding through to the rest of his gestalt. He could feel Hot Spot probing, querying what was going on, but First Aid, as afraid as he was, knew that Sunstreaker was just projecting, and that ambushing the front liner with his team was not the solution. Sending a pulse back to Hot Spot, the medic reassured his commander that he was fine, that he was just feeling emotional. Hot Spot did not believe him but after a few moments, First Aid managed to convince him not to come storming in.

Once Sunstreaker had pinned First Aid against the wall, had made it clear that medic would not be doing what he had come to do, the front liner had remained still, his servo only tight enough to hold First Aid where he was, his dark optics pinning him just as much with his glare.

It was Sideswipe who broke the thrall between the front liner and the Protectobot. Sunstreaker, so buried in the flurry of feelings that First Aid had evoked, had not noticed that Sideswipe had finally reopened the bond. It was not yet fully open but enough for Sideswipe to know that Sunstreaker was highly distressed. Sideswipe had wasted no time in getting to the med bay but even he was slightly nervous at what he would be met with on this occasion. He had tried to calm Sunstreaker over the bond as he ran through the _Ark_ , but his twins’ side of the block, raised when Sunstreaker realised that Sideswipe had shut him out, was still up so despite Sideswipe feeling Sunstreaker’s anguish, the golden twin was too distracted to feel Sideswipe pushing against the protective wall.

Rushing through the med bay doors before they had fully cycled open, Sideswipe skidded to a halt, a flash of brightly coloured plating capturing his attention from the side. _“Sunstreaker!”_ He exclaimed.

It took a klik to register with Sunstreaker, but finally he turned his helm to where his designation had been called from. Without warning, First Aid found himself released from Sunstreaker’s grip and he watched on as a ball of anger and hurt hurtled towards Sideswipe, both of them crashing to the ground as their frames came into contact.

“Where were you when I needed you!?” Sunstreaker spat; his servos lashing out wildly but not really making contact, Sideswipe servos too fast for him to do so. “Where were you!?”

Sideswipe finally caught hold of Sunstreaker’s wrists, stilling his frenzied movements and Sunstreaker’s anger turned to grief again, his frame suddenly slumping heavily on Sideswipes. “I needed you…” Sunstreaker almost sobbed, seemingly oblivious to the fact that First Aid was still in the med bay as he finally began to break. “But you shut me out.”

Watching silently from the wall he lent against, First Aid pinged Sideswipe. //Do you need me to call anyone?//

Pulling Sunstreaker tightly against his chest, his servos releasing wrists and banding around his twin, it took Sideswipe a klik to compose himself enough to respond. //We’ll be fine Aid. Just leave us be.//

First Aid hesitated. //But the frame…// He corrected himself. //Ratchet’s frame, he needs to be treated before it’s too late.// Even over the comm. First Aid winced. It was these very words that had set Sunstreaker off moments ago.

Pain lanced through Sideswipe’s spark before he replied. //We’ll do it Aid. It’s only right we do this for him.// The young medic nodded, even though neither twin could see him. //Just leave us what we need.//

Remaining where he was, First Aid listened to the gentle sobs that had begun to slip from Sunstreaker and suddenly the Protectobot saw the front liner in a new light. Despite his armour, regardless of his persona, First Aid realised that Sunstreaker was no different to any other mech aboard the fallen ship and he hurt just as deeply.

This time Sideswipe spoke aloud. Sunstreaker did not need an audience, neither of them did. “Aid, please, leave us.”

Startled by the vocalisation, First Aid pulled himself together and retrieved what the twins would need from the medical cabinet. Placing everything on a tray, the young mech finally cast his optics over the prone frame of the CMO, his spark twisting as he swallowed down his own grief. If he was honest, he was grateful that he was no longer tasked with preparing Ratchet for internment. Wheeljack would have been here to help him but the Dinobots had not taken the news well, they had no idea how to deal with the feelings they suddenly found themselves assaulted by, and Wheeljack needed to do all he could to ensure they did not go rampaging through the base.

Whilst First Aid had quietly prepared everything, Sideswipe soothed his twin and Sunstreaker finally re-opened his side of the bond, slamming through their connection, latching greedily onto Sideswipe’s spark. The rawness stunned Sideswipe for a klik, nearly suffocating him before his spark was finally able to reach back, reminding Sunstreaker that he was not alone; promises that he would never shut Sunstreaker out again echoing through.

Then finally the twins were alone and Sunstreaker’s soft sobbing ebbed to nothing more than an occasional hitch, but the two remained where they were for a little longer, Sideswipe pinned between the hard floor and Sunstreaker’s frame, their energy fields swirling and twining with each other’s while their sparks grasped just as tightly as their servos did.

Guilt ate away at Sideswipe. He should never have left Sunstreaker alone, should never have tried to deal with this alone himself either. They had both equally loved Ratchet and had both lost him. Without their medic in their lives, they had no one to keep them grounded. Sure, Prime and the rest of command tried to be as much of a family to them as they could, to all of the Autobots, but it was Ratchet who the twins had finally felt at peace with.

Breaking the trance that they had both slipped into, Sideswipe whispered. “Come Sunny, we have to do this.”

Sunstreaker buried his face tightly against Sideswipe’s neck as he shook his helm; he was in denial.

“Sunny…” Sideswipe’s vocals were throaty and Sunstreaker realised that Sideswipe had already broken down himself, and he finally understood why his twin had closed the bond. Not that it stopped the hurt he felt at being shut out, but at least he knew that Sideswipe had not turned his back on him and that in truth, Sideswipe probably needed him as much as he needed his twin. “It’ll give us closure.” Sideswipe continued despite the fact he knew that closure, for the pair of them, was a long way off.

Sunstreaker choked. “I don’t want closure.”

Sideswipe remained silent for a moment, before taking another stab at coaxing Sunstreaker into doing what they needed to do. “Wanting and needing are two different things. We need to accept…” Why couldn’t he feel as strong as his words made him out to be?

“But I don’t accept.” Came the muffled response.

Anger suddenly spiked through from Sideswipe’s side of the bond. Anger over the fact that he had to be the strong one, that he had to keep it together when all he wanted to do was hide away, with or without Sunstreaker, but hide away none the less, and grieve. “Frag sake Sunny! What do you want, for Ratchet’s frame to decay, until he’s nothing but a pile of slag and dust!?” He knew his words were hurtful, abrasive, but Sideswipe needed to get through to Sunstreaker.

The anger and words stabbed Sunstreaker in his spark and slowly he raised his helm, bleary optics trying to focus on his twin. “He doesn’t deserve to be dead.” He hiccupped. “If anyone deserves to be dead, it’s us.”

Sorrow filled optics looked back up to Sunstreaker, Sideswipe’s anger evaporating as quickly as it had arrived, regret at his harsh words taking its place. “I know. Don’t you think I don’t know that?” Softly, Sideswipe encouraged Sunstreaker to move, to sit up and let him up off the floor. “Slaggit! All the lives we’ve taken, and all the lives he’s saved, yet we are still here.” The twins now sat side by side, in the middle of the med bay floor, leaning against one another. Energy fields swirled around them, dark, ragged and heavy with ever changing emotion. It made the med bay feel small, claustrophobic yet the twins suddenly felt very small, sat on the floor like a pair of lost younglings.

“It’s not fair.” Sunstreaker whispered, keeping the whine out of his vocals.

“No, it’s not fair Sunny, and it’s not right. But we can’t change it.” Tears were now streaming down Sideswipe’s face; clearly he had not already wept himself dry.

A strong golden arm gently reached across Sideswipes back, a servo gripping at Sideswipe’s waist as Sunstreaker pulled Sideswipe in closer to his frame. At the same time his half of their spark kept an equally tight hold again at Sideswipe’s half, gripping on for dear life. “So…what happens now?”

Sideswipe shrugged. “I wish I knew Sunny. I know I don’t want to be here without him but I fear Primus has other plans for us. Why else would we still be here after all this time?”

Snorting, Sunstreaker retorted. “Plans!? You mean Primus hates us.”

“There’s that too.” The mirth the comment elicited barely rose within the pair before their sparks clenched painfully again, searching for Ratchet.

Pulling out of Sunstreaker’s hold, Sideswipe climbed to his pedes, holding out a servo to Sunstreaker. “C’mon Sunny, we need to do this.”

Sunstreaker knew Sideswipe was right; it did not make it any easier though, but gold and black servos twined as Sunstreaker took Sideswipe’s, his twin hauling him to his pedes and over to the med berth.

Ratchet was still alive when Sideswipe had last seen him, so to see his grey form, laying there, lifeless, cold, was a shock to his systems, the pain almost dropping him to his knees. Sunstreaker caught him before he could crash down, his own spark reeling from the view as no matter how long Sunstreaker had already sat here, staring at Ratchet’s frame it was as though he was seeing his frame for the first time.

Sideswipe’s black servo reached out to touch, hovering mere inches away from Ratchet’s frame, afraid to move closer; sensors confused when only cold air met his fingertips. All heat, all energy, any signs of life gone. Ratchet was gone.

Sunstreaker wrapped his servo around Sideswipe’s hovering one, pulling it away from the lifeless frame, and the pair stood in silence, their tears flowing once again, unfettered, landing on the berth their bond-mate lay on.

It was some time before either of them moved again, Sunstreaker the first to brush away at the now dry tears on his cheeks, the small movements pulling Sideswipe’s attention to him before the crimson twin reached out a shaky servo towards the tray that First Aid had left them. Handing a bottle and cloth to Sunstreaker, he picked up the same objects for himself and moved to the opposite side of the berth.

The twins locked their optics onto one another, their sparks sending everything that they could through their bond to each other; love, protection, support. Not that any of this soothed their pain, there was only one thing that could do that, one mech, and he was lying in front of them, no longer a part of them.

Finally Sideswipe begun to apply the rust preventative to Ratchet’s cold, grey frame, Sunstreaker only kliks behind him. Both worked in silence, soaking the cloths they used before caressing each plate individually, ensuring no part was missed. It was not an easy task, nor a quick one, but one which they would not have allowed anyone else to have performed. Ratchet was theirs and theirs alone, in life and in death. Their servos worked slowly, gently, both drawing out the process, still not ready to let him go.

The internment had been scheduled for the following cycle, Decepticon attacks pending, and the twins had already silently agreed, they would not leave Ratchet’s side before then.

They felt uncomfortable at how cathartic their actions were, taking their processors off their pain, but neither twin was sure that was what they wanted. Yet they continued to treat Ratchet’s frame, continued to prepare it, to protect it from decay. They worked in unison while their energy fields flared out, embracing both each other and their mate, creating a shield around them, a bubble where only the three existed.

Some time had passed before they had finished coating every inch of Ratchet’s frame, the cold grey metal no longer dull as it glistened in the dim light. But it was not enough, it was not _good_ enough. It did not sit right in their sparks that all that was left of their lover, their bond-mate, was this grey lifeless husk. They were acutely aware that Ratchet was no longer there, despite the denial that sat at the edge of their sparks, but this, this grey shell, it was not right.

Sunstreaker looked nervously at Sideswipe, sure his twin was thinking the same as he, but afraid that if he wasn’t, Sideswipe would scoff at him, think it profane for him to do what it was he wanted to do.

Sideswipe held Sunstreaker’s dark hesitant gaze. “I think we should do it.”

As if Sideswipe could not read his twin!

Gratitude and relief bloomed through the bond from Sunstreaker and while Sideswipe cleared the tray and its contents away, Sunstreaker disappeared and for the first time since they had heard the spark breaking news, Sideswipe found himself alone with his deceased bond-mate and unease settled over him. For a short while he stood back from the berth, suddenly afraid to move too closely. Despite his need to be there for Sunstreaker, his golden twin was clearly stronger than he as Sunstreaker had remained at Ratchet’s side, alone and hurting, while Sideswipe had hidden away in their quarters.

Sideswipe was pulled from his thoughts when Sunstreaker returned to the med bay, arms laden with a few tins he had retrieved from stores. “You’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

Confusion flashed across Sideswipe’s face before he realise he had been projecting through their bond. “Still, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have been alone, neither of us should’ve been.”

Sunstreaker placed the tins he carried on the floor so that he could pull his twin into an embrace, his spark answering Sideswipe’s call. Leaning back, golden servos moved to Sideswipe’s face and he touched their fore-helms together. “You and me against the world Swipe.” Sunstreaker had no idea where he found his strength from, only joors ago he had been craving Sideswipe’s support.

“You and me.” Sideswipe repeated. His optics flickering as his spark painfully contracted at the words; their spark still did not want to believe that a part of it was missing.

“Whatever happens.” Sunstreaker added whilst tightening his hold on Sideswipe’s face.

“Whatever happens.” Sideswipe echoed, tears pooling in his optics again. But before they could fall Sunstreaker brushed them away with his thumbs.

“’C’mon.” Sunstreaker husked. “Let’s give Ratchet his dignity back.”

This time it was Sunstreaker’s turn to emotionally support Sideswipe. It was how things worked, emotions swinging wildly between them. One moment Sideswipe was Sunstreaker’s anchor, the next, Sunstreaker was Sideswipe’s, and when Ratchet was around, he had kept them both grounded. They were both battle crazed, both Pit bent on pushing themselves to their limits, but Ratchet was the rock they had anchored themselves to; and now they were alone, again.

Sideswipe nodded against Sunstreaker’s helm, his engine hitching as he pulled out of his twins’ hold and taking a deep vent, he pulled himself and his frame together while Sunstreaker retrieved the tins.

An array of opened tins now filled one of the trays beside the med berth, and taking a few brushes from subspace, Sunstreaker started mixing the contents, ensuring the paint was smooth before he handed one of the tins to Sideswipe. Gently rolling Ratchet’s motionless frame onto its side, Sunstreaker’s tanks roiled at the dead weight he was met with, the coldness all the more real.

Shoulder to shoulder the twins stood, both slightly leaning into one another, physically and emotionally, and together they started to bring Ratchet’s frame back to his former glory. It would not bring him back, nor would it sooth their pain, but it was the last thing they could do for him; to not leave him a grey lifeless husk.

\---------------------------------------------

The following cycle had been tough on the twins. Their entire life had been a constant battle of survival of the fittest, first to survive the workhouses, then the rings and now, as the Autobots they had become; but none of it, not the near starvation from lack of energon, the beatings, the lives they took, the lives they saw stolen, prepared the pair for this cycle. None of it equipped the twins for the strength they needed to face the truth of what had happened, and say goodbye.

Ratchet had soothed their past, given them a future to live for, a reason to come back from each battle. But now he was gone, and he had left a hole in their spark.

They did not even last one of Earth’s short hours in the rec room; everyone had congregated there after the internment, stories swapped, memories wallowed in. But the twins could not bear it. It was not Ratchet’s past they wanted to live, it was the right now they wanted to live with him.

The sun was only just reaching its highest point of the cycle while the twins crawled into their berth, exhausted from the emotion they had locked inside them as they refused to break in front of the rest of the Autobot crew. But now they were alone no one would witness as they fell apart and wrapping themselves around one another, neither dared let the other go, their spark energy pulsing between them, throbbing with their pain, their grief, while tears silently slipped down their cheeks.

The hole in their spark, the one left behind by Ratchets’ loss, wrought pain in them like none they had ever known before. As they clung to one another, tendrils of their half sparks weaved through their bond, drawing one another towards each other, begging to be united. The twins knew it was what they would need to do, the only thing that would heal the physical pain for them, but they refused to give in, refused to answer the calls of their spark.

To merge would be letting go; erasing Ratchet in a way they did not want to. They had already said goodbye to his physical being but they were a long way off from being able to let go of him completely. The pain caused by the chasm in their life force was all they had left, a reminder of what they had had, of what they had lost; and it would be that rift, that abyss of pain that would drive them forward, aid them in their new quest.

Their spark would never rest and never let go of that pain, not until they did what needed to be done. Not until every last one of those who had been implicit in the death of their spark mate, had begged them for their lives, before they extinguished their sparks. And then, when their task was complete, when they had avenged Ratchet, they would appease their spark.

But for now, curled up in the dark of their quarters, away from the stories, far from the sympathetic words and the pitiful stares, they would hold onto one another and mourn for their bond-mate.

**A/N:** After completing this, I started wishing that I had written it that Sideswipe completely failed to be there for Sunstreaker, but I think that needs to be a multi chapter fic so maybe I will explore this at a later date.


End file.
